


sic itur ad astra

by Hat_Brat



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bad Ending, Broken Promises, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, Memory Loss, Mental Breakdown, Mild Gore, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, Sad and Sweet, Tags May Change, Title is in Latin, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hat_Brat/pseuds/Hat_Brat
Summary: He'd promised that he wouldn't make her wait for him, so why had the universe been cruel enough to make him break it?
Relationships: Hat Kid/Timmy (A Hat in Time)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	sic itur ad astra

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle up.

He wished he could say he was used to the stares, but even after putting up with them for centuries, his skin still burned where their eyes landed, and he still rounded his shoulders to hide in his red coat.

Everyone knew who he was. From the blue tattoos on his face to the way he floated instead of walked, which was the most of the reality-warping powers he'd been born with that he could control. All of it made it painfully obvious that he was Timmy, the grandson of Tim, the CEO of Time, and and heir to the throne of spacetime and all things.

He just wished people would treat him like it.

Go down to the city, Gramps had said. It'll be easy, he said. Just go and pick out some gifts for the Timekeepers to give them at their graduation tonight, a personal gift to commemorate their completion of Timekeeper studies at the Academy and their promotion to full Timekeeper status. It wasn't until Timmy had left the HQ of Time that he abruptly remembered why he spent pretty much all of his time at the Academy and at home. 

Timmy turned a corner to catch his breath, hiding in a narrow alleyway that was dark as pitch when he stared down into it. He leaned up against a building, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, focusing on his breathing. _Don't have a meltdown,_ he ordered himself. Meltdowns were forbidden. If he freaked out, the power he would unleash was capable of killing him and wiping this city off of the map in an instant. The last person in his bloodline to have a meltdown was the one who drove their people to live underwater, where magic kept them alive and existing as if the water around them wasn't even there. The sea, at least, kept Timmy somewhat calm - like the cooling of an ancient nuclear reactor so it didn't explode. If only he were in a blue Time Rift, what with how it perfectly mirrored this city. In a Rift there were no people.

No little girls to sneak up to him from the dark and pickpocket his wallet out of his jacket.

"Hey!"

Timmy felt the hand leave his pocket and the thief took off into the darkness. Timmy's tattoos began to glow as more magic activated, allowing him to spot the little girl in the dark. He took off after her, and when she had taken not ten strides he extended a hand and blue magic encapsulated her. She squealed in protest as Timmy lifted her off of the ground and turned her around to face him as she waved her arms and legs, enraged and scared, like a cornered animal. 

He inspected her and one glance made him regret it. This girl was clearly homeless, and probably an orphan. Not a child but not pubescent, either, her entire body was covered in bruises and scrapes. Her hands and feet were caked with dirt, and her hair was wildly tangled where it rested halfway down her back. She wore nothing save for two thick, dirty pieces of tattered brown cloth tied around her bony hips and ending above her knees. She was horrendously skinny, with sunken eyes with sickly purple half-moons beneath them. Immortalized as a teenager from the most well-off family in this society, Timmy was immediately awash with intense pity and discomfort. _Uh...What am I supposed to do with this little goblin?_

_No doubt about it...She's a Broken._

Her limbs fell and she stubbornly glared at him, seeming to accept defeat but not be happy about it. Timmy held out a hand, making a "hand it over" motion. She reluctantly dropped his Pon wallet into his palm.

"Look, kid," he sighed. "A-are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?"

Her expression softened in shock, like she hadn't expected that - with good reason. People in this town didn't treat scraps like her that well. Enough time passed for Timmy to consider that she couldn't speak, but then she nodded slowly. "...Yeah..."

Timmy smiled slightly, and gently set her on the ground. He slipped his red jacket off of his shoulders and drifted down, kneeling down onto the ground so he was a bit below her eye level. "Here, take this jacket. Okay? We'll get you some clothes, too."

The girl was still reluctant, and actually stepped back a few times. Her eyes flashed with worry. She didn't trust him. 

Disheartened, Timmy lowered his arm with the jacket. She was definitely a Broken, one of the children of this society who had experienced mind-altering trauma that had shattered their ability to grow into normal people. Every single child who was a Timekeeper, including Timmy himself, was a Broken, with the memories of their trauma erased by the CEO of Time so they could start life anew on a ship either by themselves or with one or two other kids. This girl could be a prime candidate. 

"Hey," he murmured to her. "It'll be okay."

Then he made the mistake of reaching for her ever so slightly. She flinched away, her little hands shooting up to shove his arm away. Whimpering with fear, she turned tail and ran deeper into the alley. 

"Wait!"

By the time he had flown after her, she had disappeared. 

Timmy hovered in the alleyway, morose. There was scarcely a sign the girl even existed, barely a fingerprint or trace of dust on his Pon wallet. He pressed the corner of the black leather to his chin, staring intensely at the white wall before him, and that was when he got an idea.

A few steps out of the alley, he propped a stick up against the wall so he could find it again. In town, there was a small cluster of shops, selling clothes and goods and other oddities. Timmy needed something simple...calorie-dense food, thick, comfortable clothes. 

He settled on a black tunic dotted with white stars, a white jacket for cold nights, socks and sturdy boots that would last awhile and hopefully wouldn't get too small too soon. While he had brought a sizeable amount of Pons, the clothes had left him with only a few handfuls, which wasn't nothing, he supposed...Luckily, he found an egg roll stand, serving the rolls over fried rice. It smelled amazing - Timmy would need to return to buy some for himself.

Timmy's powers warped the items so that only that little girl could see or touch them, and hopefully she would stay in that alley and find what he had left for her. He tried not to think about what she would do for her next meal, or the one after that...

He left her all his remaining Pons, just in case.

* * *

While he'd gotten a scolding from Gramps about why he'd returned empty-handed and without Pons, Timmy thought it was worth it to help that little girl. Weeks passed, and he still occasionally left her things in that alley - snacks, toys, personal hygiene things like a brush, soap and some bandages and gauze, along with pictures on what to do with them. Whenever he checked to see if they'd been taken, they always were. It brought a smile to his face.

Today, that smile didn't last so long. 

Upon exiting that alley he immediately spotted a group of teenagers a few years older than himself in a circle, surrounding a small swatch of colors. Timmy frowned with a furrow of his brow. _This smells like trouble._ He edged as close as he dared, and all caution went out of the window when he noticed the swatch of colors was a small, blonde boy on his knees with a broken binder before him and papers scattered about. The boy shook before his assailants, his wide eyes begging for them to cease whatever they were doing.

"Well?" Timmy heard one snicker as he approached. "What's the matter, little man? You've lost the balls you had when you stole that binder from us."

"Yeah," agreed another. "We ain't happy about it."

"I-it's mine..." stammered the boy on the ground. " _I-I_ didn't _s-steal_ it, I t-took it back 'cuz you _stole_ it."

_Is that..._

Timmy narrowed his eyes at the blonde boy. He was familiar...

"Marcus?"

One of the graduates he was supposed to buy a gift a few weeks ago, Marcus had been valedictorian of his class at the Academy. He was supposed to use his new freedom as a Timekeeper to research alien fauna, but apparently hadn't left the planet yet...Whoever would have a grudge to settle with Marcus? Timmy had only ever interacted with him a few times, and knew that he was just a sweet little kid with a passion for science. Timmy's frown deepened. He purposely ignored the goons surrounding him, if only to agitate them, shoving past and kneeling down onto the ground to help Marcus collect his papers. "I haven't seen you since your graduation. Why are you still on this planet?"

Marcus visibly relaxed at the sight of Timmy, a relieved smile lifting his face. "T-Timmy!" he blurted. "O-oh, I'm just fickle about which ship I get...haven't found one I like yet...I'm on my way to see one now, actually..." 

"Let's get you there, then."

A hand landed firmly on Timmy's shoulder, and hot, smelly breath grazed his right ear. "And what do you think _you're_ doing?" Goon #1 growled. 

Nonreactive, Timmy shrugged. "Just helping a friend."

"That 'friend' has business with us."

"Mmhmm." Timmy stood, offering a hand to Marcus. 

That hand left abruptly, and Timmy sensed the punch coming before it did. An invisible shield went up over his back, and he heard the goon hiss as his knuckles bounced off of it. 

"T," Marcus cried softly. "You've gotta g-get _outta_ here, they're right, this is my business!"

Timmy grinned nonchalantly. "No worries, bud. Uh, think of this as me apologizing for not getting you anything for your graduation."

Marcus' face let Timmy know he had no idea what he was talking about, but Timmy didn't spare any thought to it. He was too distracted by the sudden panicking of the four goons behind him.

"W-woah, we gotta scram!"

"We're sorry, miss, don't hurt us!"

The voice of a pipsqueak overpowered them. "Pieces a' trash! I'm not here for your 'sorry's! Go! Away! That's my _friend_ you're messing with!"

Timmy turned around and his jaw went slack. It was the girl from the alley.

She wore the clothes he'd bought her, her hair was brushed until it was shiny and clipped with a barrette with a top hat on it, and while her body was still littered with wounds, some covered and some not, she was clean. She looked less like a homeless girl and more like a scrappy elementary schooler. A stubby finger pointed away from the area, her face twisted into a snarl. 

Was she...defending him?

Whatever she was doing, it terrified the goons who'd been harassing Marcus, and they scattered faster than a ship going into warp. She watched them go. Her street cred must've been off of the charts to scare them like that.

Timmy raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You sure seem like something."

She shrugged. "A li'l, I guess...There's a rumor goin' around that I killed someone with my bare hands. It's not true, but it keeps me safe, at least."

"Who are you?" Marcus asked nervously. "S-sorry - do you go to the Academy? I'm bad with faces, if I've seen you around I wouldn't know-"

She frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Academy? I don't go to school, period."

"Oh."

Timmy helped Marcus to his feet. "You want someone to escort you to wherever you're going?"

"No..." Marcus glanced around nervously. "I should be fine, I think..." He bowed to the girl until his chest was parallel to the ground, then did the same to Timmy. "Thank you both! I'll never forget this! I'll repay you someday!"

At the same time Timmy said "Don't worry about it," the girl said "I'm holding you to that." And with that, Marcus was off.

As soon as he was out of earshot the girl whirled around to face Timmy and grinned up at him. "There. Step one of paying you off. I owe you a lot, y'know!"

"Owe me?" Timmy cocked his head to one side. "What are you talking about?"

"Whaaaaaat? You forgot about me!" She pouted and began beating on his chest angrily, not enough to hurt him but enough to make Timmy move backwards in the air. "You've been giving me all this stuff and you forgoooooot about me?!"

"Ohhh, I remember now." With a chuckle he put a hand on her head and gently shoved her back. "You're the brat who tried to mug me."

"You ever been mugged, boy?! _That_ wasn't a mug."

"I know, I know."

"But, really..."

The girl lowered her head, her shoulders hunching, balling her little fists. "You...You saved me back there."

A smirked wormed its way onto Timmy's face. "Ah, don't worry about it. Helping people is just what I do."

"No!" Her head whipped up with an expression of startling conviction. "You saved my _life!_ I was on track to die of cold and starvation, but...But what you gave me kept me going! Thanks to you I have a job, and I'm making enough money to keep myself alive!" 

"A job? What are you, ten?"

"I'm eleven, so shut the _hell_ up." She pouted.

_Woah. She really is just a kid._

"That's amazing," he said with a soft smile. "I'm happy. But do you have a place to sleep?"

This was it. If she answered no, he would offer her a place at the Academy. She could be nurtured into a lovely Timekeeper, whatever events that landed her here erased from her mind. She would be okay, made immortal to preserve the Time Pieces. 

"Well, the shopkeeper I work for lets me stay in a room above the store..."

That was great, too. Her eyes said she was on her way to remedying her Broken status. "Great!"

"But I still wanna repay you for the things you did for me!" That look of conviction returned. "So tell everyone who tries to mess with you that you know Cashmere!"

"Cashmere? Is that your name?"

"It's my street name, but even _you_ don't get to know my real name."

"Well, my name is Timmy. And that's my real name."

He looked down at this adorable scrap who insisted on paying him back for a deal that, as far as he was concerned, didn't exist. A warmth took shape in his chest, like nothing he'd experienced before, and it made the unbearable sensation that came with being in public ease just a touch. _She's alright. I like her. I like you, Cashmere._

He reached out to pat her head, then retracted it apologetically when Cashmere flinched away from it. But she met his eyes with an apology, and lifted her head into his palm, sighing happily.

"Okay," Timmy said. "We'll be friends. If anyone tries to mess with you, you tell 'em that you know Timmy."

"What?"

"Well...If you're protecting me, who's gonna protect you?"

"...You promise...?"

"Yeah." He kneeled down again to look directly into her eyes. "I promise."

* * *

In no time at all, Cashmere became integral to Timmy's life. For a blissful year he watched her play like a child and help out at the bookstore where she worked, that the owner promised that she'd own someday. She grew four inches and kept her hair long and well-groomed, and Timmy could tell she would be a very beautiful woman when she was grown. Her bones stopped being visible through the healthy amount of muscle she developed through her antics on the street, playing chase with Timmy and the other kids, and lifting shockingly tall stacks of books. And Timmy had never been so happy.

He didn't think that Cashmere was right when she said Timmy had saved her life. And he continued to insist that she had no debt to him. She, however, wouldn't believe him until one particular night.

There was a small festival going on in the town square that starry evening, the sea above them glittering like her favorite tunic - if she kept growing like she did, it would just be a shirt soon. A white shawl around her shoulders and a black top hat on her head, she lead Timmy around the square excitedly. 

"Ooh!" she exclaimed. "I know! Take a look at that stall over there, Timmy, it's guitars! I've been saving up for a really long time, so I'll buy you one!"

Timmy rolled his eyes. "Do _not_ buy me stuff. I have more than enough money to buy it myself. Plus, those things are really expensive!"

She released his hand to stand directly in front of him, stamping her foot in frustration. "But I still have that debt! Please let me buy you _something._ I like giving presents!"

"C'mon, would you drop the debt thing?" Timmy sighed, his shoulders dropping as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Really, just being my friend has paid it off tenfold. If anything, I owe you now. For putting up with me - _Oof!"_

Without warning he was almost tackled to the ground by Cashmere. He had gotten used to flying around her level, and she abused it now, hugging him ferociously around his middle and burying her face into his stomach. Her top hat fell off of her head with the force and bounced a few paces away. "Timmyyyyyy!" she cried. 

He was stunned into silence, awkwardly holding his hands above her form like he was going to retaliate the gesture, but was held back by surprise - Cashmere hated being touched, with Timmy only occasionally being the exception. Under no circumstances had she ever initiated anything beyond a handhold. "H-hey now," he chuckled uncomfortably, "what's the matter?"

"No one's ever said anything like that before," she mumbled into his shirt. Still with her mouth and cheeks in the fabric, she pulled back so her eyes could look up at him. Her ears turned pink. "I get mad when I see people telling other kids that they love 'em, cuz nobody says that to me. But not you. You spend time with me. So you're okay."

"...Nobody's ever told you they love you?" Finally, Timmy laid a hand on her upper back and the back of her head protectively, lowering himself to the ground so her face was now in his collar. She didn't flinch away from his touch like she used to. "Nobody ever?"

"Nuh-uh."

Cashmere didn't talk about her parents, but Timmy figured they'd either been abusive or died when she was young. This seemed to confirm it. "Alright," he said quietly, his own ears growing hot. "Okay, then. I love you. How about that?"

Her arms flew up to hug him around the neck, and she said nothing. He returned the hug tightly around her waist, closing his eyes. Her face was warm against his neck. 

"...Thanks, Timmy."

"What?" He laughed a little as she pulled away, her face red with a blush. "You're not gonna say it, too?"

"Creep!" She headbutted his chest, knocking him back. "Weirdo! Fine..." She looked down at the ground. "I love you. Thanks for everything you've done for me."

"I said I'd protect you, didn't I?"

"My real name..."

"Hm?"

She met his eyes again, crossing her arms bashfully, then quickly turned around and started walking toward the whistle vendor. "My name, it's...it's Heather."

"Heather." Timmy took to the air again, testing how the name sounded on his tongue. "So you've got two flower names?"

"Don't make fun of me for it!"

"I'm not!" As they approached, he narrowed his eyes at an amber acoustic guitar, hand-crafted, its metal strings glinting. "It's pretty."

"My name?"

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Nah, this guitar."

"Grrr!" She socked him in the shoulder, catching the vendor's attention as they laughed together.

* * *

_When Timmy gave the news, Heather looked up from the book she'd been reading with so much shock it broke his heart. "You're leaving?!"_

_He put his hands up defensively. "It's not for long, I promise!"_

_She stood up on the stool she'd been sitting on, propping her hands up on the bookstore checkout desk. "How long?!" she demanded._

_"It's just a Timekeeper mission," he explained calming, putting a hand over hers in reassurance. "I'm gonna go repair a Time Rift. You know what those are, right?"_

_"Yes..."_

_"Time flows weird in a Rift, so it won't seem as long to me." He smiled. "I shouldn't be gone for more than two weeks. A few days to get there, a day or so while I'm in the Rift, and a few days to get back."_

_She frowned sadly. "You won't die, will you?"_

_"Pssh." Timmy waved the statement away with a hand. "No way. I'm really good at repairing Rifts. I won't even get hurt. Even if the Rift is really big, I'll only be in it for an hour at most. And a minute in a Rift is a little more than an hour in the real world."_

_Reluctantly, Heather plopped back down onto her stool, brow furrowed with worry. "You're sure, right?"_

_"Of course." Timmy grinned, patting her hand. "I'd never make you wait too long for me."_

_"Promise?"_

_"Promise."_

The memory played on repeat as he awkwardly stumbled around his ship turning on all of the lights, clutching the Time Piece he'd worked so hard to get. Stars above, he was _hungry._ And _tired._ Why had this Rift taken so much out of him? He swore that normally he had more strength than this.

Upon putting the Time Piece into the vault of his ship, the _Warp Star_ , Timmy went to his kitchen and was nearly knocked off of his feet by the smell.

Rotting meat, rotting vegetables, moldy bread, slimy trash, mildewed sink. Every drop of his intense appetite died in his mouth. _Oh, my God. I must've been in there for a couple weeks. Heather's gonna be mad..._

He decided to put off the inevitable cleaning until he got somewhere where he could dump the trash, preferably a black hole where he could eject the entire kitchen. Sitting down in his captain's chair, he noticed a thick layer of dust settled across his console, turning the pad of his finger grey when he drew it across it. _Uh...That's not normal..._

"Computer?" he inquired aloud. The beep signaling its recognition of him never came. It, along with most of the ship, was in complete shutdown.

_It's not supposed to do that unless left idle for..._

"Two hundred days."

His stomach clenched, and he put a hand to his head. _Two hundred days. Two hundred...days..._

Bile burned the back of his throat. A beep finally signaled, not one of recognition, but one of the computer powering on, and it prompted him with _"Please repeat that."_

"How...How long has it been since I launched to the Rift?"

 _"Six hundred thirty-six days, one hour, and forty-one seconds,"_ the computer replied. _"Welcome home. You've been gone for quite some time."_

Timmy's jaw fell open and his gut lurched, bile and dread crawling up out of his esophagus and festering in the back of his mouth. _No. No way. No way in hell._

"That's..." he whispered into his hand. "That's impossible, for that to happen I'd need to have been in there for-"

 _"Ten total Rift days,"_ the computer finished. 

His knees went weak and his heart plummeted into his stomach. The words _That's not possible_ looped endlessly in his mind. The edges of his vision darkened, his mind completely and utterly unable to process the shock. Timmy felt his hands shaking as his blurry eyes glanced down at them, his teeth inexplicably beginning to chatter. Perception shifted to the third person - like he wasn't in control, Timmy watched passively as his body whirled around to the panel and struggled to punch in the coordinates to his home planet. He produced a chalky white cigarette made of sugar and most of it fell out of his mouth when he tried to chew on it. 

The few days it took to get back to the planet were a blur of nonstop numbness, wandering around his ship like a ghost, unable to comprehend his reality. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. The small part of his head that remained level was convinced that nothing was wrong, that when he got back Heather was going to cry because he'd lied and been gone for a few weeks longer than he said he'd be. That was it. No way she'd forgotten about him, her life moving beyond him. No way that maybe she'd moved or gotten a new job.

Or worse.

When he finally did arrive, his starved body screamed whenever he even breathed, but Timmy had given up on eating, since anything that went down soon came back up. Being a Timekeeper himself, he could go much, much longer without eating or drinking...but this was the first time he'd really tested his resilience training. He exploded out of his ship where it docked just outside of the city, in a lot filled with other ships, soaring through the sea to a huge white manor, visible even from afar - his home. _Gramps. Tell me my ship is wrong._

A servant went slack-jawed as Timmy entered in a panic, and it made his stomach twist. A servant wouldn't react like that if he'd only been gone for a month or so... _No. No, can't think like that!_ "Gramps!" he wailed, his composure nearly breaking with his voice. "Gramps! GRAMPS!"

Above the foyer was a balcony from the second floor, and that was where the CEO of Time himself appeared, wide-eyed with shock at the sight of his grandson. He leapt over the railing and flew down, and Timmy met him halfway, charging into his grandpa's arms. 

"Timmy?" Tim sounded like he couldn't believe it. "Kiddo- oh, my stars, you've been gone for so _long-_ "

"That can't be right!" Timmy cried, looking up with an expression that broke Tim's heart. "Please, please, I can't have been gone for two years! Right? Tell me I'm right!"

Tim was stunned silent.

Timmy understood instantly why his grandfather couldn't respond, his skin blanching even paler than before. The words inscribed on the young boy's heart resurfaced, scribbled crudely all over his face: _Don't have a meltdown. don't have a meltdown. Don't ever have a meltdown._

"I..." he rasped, the quiet voice of a mind that was steadily deteriorating, "have to go to town. Right now."

Before Tim could say anything else, Timmy had peeled himself off of his grandfather and flown away just as quickly as he arrived. 

_Heather. Heather, I'm sorry, just wait for me a little while longer and I promise I'll be back. Just a few more minutes, please._

It wasn't there.

The bookstore where Heather lived and worked...

It wasn't there. Not vacant, but the building had vanished, like it had never existed at all.

Timmy stopped dead in the middle of the town square, his entire body tingling with inexplicable pins and needles. His soul seemed to fall out of his body again, and he watched himself in the third person with a horrible face like he was about to die. And maybe that's why he was seeing himself now - was he dying? Did his superhuman heart give out under the implications of what this meant.

No...Clearly the store must've just relocated, right?

Timmy watched himself, ghostly calm, turn to a passerby and ask with a voice surprisingly unshaking, "Excuse me...There was a bookstore here, do you know what happened to it?"

The passerby looked sadly to where Timmy pointed. "Oh...That place burned down a year ago. As far as authorities know, most of the employees died, and the owner, too."

"Oh."

Once more, Timmy raced away. Something went _snap_ within him, and his mind could produce only one coherent thought. _I have to get to Gramps, or someone will die._

_Heather...Heather is dead?_

He stopped, wrapped his arm around his stomach and the other over his mouth, and vomited off of the white platform holding the city up in the sea. It was all bile that burned his throat and his nose, making him acutely aware of the way his teeth rubbed up against one another. Another foreign sensation drizzled over his hand, and Timmy retracted it in disgust. 

Blood. His left eye went red and blurry, bleeding tears. He was having a meltdown, and his body was going to break if he didn't get to his grandfather _now._

His knees weak, he collapsed to the ground. _I'm having a meltdown...I failed. I failed everyone._

Timmy blacked out.

* * *

It took a long time to nurse Timmy back to health. 

He would learn later that Tim had sensed the power that was leaking from Timmy's body and gotten to him just in time, knocking him into a deep sleep. Timmy's body had begun to break, his eye rupturing, his body temperature rising far beyond what was safe even for a Timekeeper, and lacerations without a cause appearing up and down his back like he had been whipped. He was lucky. Physically, he could be treated - even his eye would soon be back to normal - but Tim had needed to temporarily numb all feelings until Timmy could come to terms with what had happened to him. After a few weeks, those emotions were slowly coming back. 

_Why didn't I ever tell Gramps about Heather? I told him I had a friend...I should've made him protect her!_

At the moment he read a book with a sad scene in it, friends being separated or something, and while tears flowed from his eyes and dripped from his chin Timmy didn't understand why. He didn't really like the book. It hadn't made sense thus far. All it had took to get him crying were the words "promise" and "love" and "I'll see you again someday".

Abruptly, it made sense, and he closed the book.

Heather was dead. Timmy saw no other option. She had died most likely feeling abandoned by him, waiting for him to fulfill a promise he never could. His stomach still twisted and his heart still raced when he thought about it, but it was in the past - he, of all people, should know that what had happened couldn't be changed even with the Time Pieces his job would be someday to protect. Nothing could stir joy in him anymore, it seemed, from any amount of reading to playing the guitar he had bought with Heather so long ago.

He was chilly, in this vast, lonely manor he called home. Given that the lacerations on his back hadn't yet healed, he couldn't wear much beyond gauze, and Tim had put up many barriers around the house so he didn't go anyplace where he could get hurt or disturb the natural flow of things - the kitchen, the laundry room, outside. He had nobody to talk to. Tim was busy preparing the Academy to accept a new wave of Broken children who would become Timekeepers. Timmy had never been a normal child, but somehow, now he found himself in want of going outside and playing with kids his age.

Ignoring the fact he'd never be accepted. Heather was the only one who hadn't been afraid of him.

Things were going fine, but Timmy one day heard voices coming from his grandfather's office.

He stopped outside of the just barely open door when he heard Tim speaking to someone. The office had magic preventing Timmy from entering, but was only soundproof one way - he could hear them, but not the other way around...Soon, Timmy would regret that.

There was his grandfather's voice. "And you're quite certain that this is what you want?"

"Well, yeah...I haven't got any other options. There's nothing left for me anymore."

That other voice, feminine and raspy, was achingly familiar. Timmy pressed himself against the clear barrier erected at the office door, trying to peek through the barely open door.

He caught a glimpse.

The blink of blue eyes, the glisten of silver stars on a black tunic...

Heather. Oh, stars, it was Heather. She was alive, and she was so close yet _so, so far away,_ and talking with Tim right now about forgetting her old life. About forgetting him. " _Hey,_ " he begged weakly, praying to whatever higher power that listened for Heather to notice him out of the corner of her eyes. _Let me talk to her. Let me apologize. Please._

Tim chuckled sadly. "I'm terribly sorry. But that's what I'm here for. I'm hoping that I can give children like you a chance to be happy again."

"...I can be happy?"

"Yes, happy! Far from a normal life, mind you, but a happy one, filled with adventure..."

"Sounds better than anything I have right now."

"And I will be taking away your memories."

Heather stiffened as Tim told her the first, and most important, step in transforming a Broken child into a Timekeeper. Timmy's hands curled into fists.

Tim was just barely behind the door, where Timmy couldn't see him. "If you don't remember all the bad things that have happened to you, then they shouldn't be able to hurt you anymore - it's worked for every other Timekeeper out there, that much I know. I'll probably tell you that you had a good life, but you had to have your memories taken. It's specifically forbidden for anyone to tell you things that might jog your memories. Okay?"

"Good." Heather's expression darkened morosely and her tone soured. "Take them."

"...Do you have any regrets, my girl?"

_Look over here! C'mon, Heather, please!_

"Well, if anything...I wish I could apologize to the person who abandoned me...and ask him what drove him away. He said he was gonna be gone, but the day he was supposed to return came and went, and I haven't seen him since." She smiled weakly up at Tim, her baby blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Ask him what I did wrong, y'know? I can't hate him. If anything, I love him more than ever, since I miss him so much."

A defeated moan escaped Timmy's throat and he sank to his knees, pressing his forehead against the barrier and staring at the floor. "You didn't do anything wrong," he whispered, almost silent. "Let me tell you that to your face. You haven't done _anything_ wrong. Heather..."

Inside Tim's office was the forbidden room, one that Timmy hadn't been inside since he himself became a Timekeeper all those centuries ago. It was where all the memories were stored within hundreds of thousands of Time Pieces. And as Heather was lead out of Timmy's sight, he knew that was where she was going, and she wouldn't emerge the person he once knew. 

One chance to fix everything, just barely out of his grasp. 

Feebly he tried to summon the magic to fracture the barrier. _I'm...not strong enough..._ Wherever his fingers touched, the barrier hummed disapprovingly, far superior to the meek abilities of a boy on the brink of his second mental shattering in a month. 

_Heather? Are you still there?_

The attention of every servant in the manor was caught when a scream ripped through the halls, guttural and agonized. 

There was the sensation of hands grabbing at Timmy's arms and legs, trying to drag him away from the office. Terrified faces through his blood red vision, the feeling of flesh tearing and bones breaking and the very fabric of space and time around him distending, warping, trying to keep itself intact as a barrier of pure energy flooded from him. His thoughts became muddy and he lost the awareness of his own breathing and heartbeat, his heavy body moving on its own. He thrashed until people stopped trying to hold him down. The floor was strangely soft beneath him as he curled into a ball, gripping his head. His consciousness, buried beneath a torrent of rage and pain, produced one coherent thought, clear as crystal.

_I'm dying. I must be dying._

He didn't know how long he just had to lay there, reality warping wherever he was into a hellscape of disjointed colors and shapes as his insides disintegrated. He stopped thinking of Heather, and even of his grandfather - instead, playing in his mind were images of his mother.

All of a sudden there were warm arms around him, and the smell of pine oil and laundry detergent. Timmy still could barely string together what was happening to him, and still knew. "Gramps," he managed, the words dribbling blood onto his grandfather's blue suit. "Gramps...I-I'm breaking...sorry..."

"Don't talk, kiddo." Timmy had never heard Tim's voice so hollow. "It's going to be okay."

"I don't wanna hurt anybody else," Timmy sobbed. "I don't want anyone else to die. Not like Mom and Dad. Don't let me kill anybody else."

"I won't. I promise. I'm sorry, kiddo, I never should've let you bear all this power by yourself - that's _my_ job. I don't have meltdowns so you can, and I should never have let it come this far."

Slowly but surely, Timmy felt the energy that had been leaking out of his body ebb away, and with it came a release and a wonderful freedom. It was like the weight of the entire sea had been lifted off of his back. His battered body relaxed and sighed, but at the same time, through Timmy's bloody vision, he watched his grandfather's grey hair turn snow white and his face age twenty years.

"Now tell me, kiddo...What's wrong?"

Timmy's face must've looked like a scene from a horror movie, yet still Tim looked at him with nothing but love and care.

Timmy buried his ruined face into Tim's chest and wept.

* * *

Normally, walking around the terrace wasn't a hazard, but Timmy had forgotten that the children of the Academy were on break until one barreled right into his stomach.

He was knocked to the ground, the wind exiting his lungs. Dazed, he heard the children that his attacker was with scolding her as he collected his bearings. 

"Yikes, man! Sorry!" The girl who'd run into him sounded panicked. "You're the headmaster's grandkid, aren't you? Gosh, he told us to watch out for you and here I am..."

Timmy said nothing, still sitting on the ground, blind and helpless with a cloth tied around his still healing eyes. His grandfather said it would be a few more weeks before he could take the cloth off, the strain of two meltdowns in the span of a few moths still showing on his body and the aftereffects of which would stay with him for decades. Centuries, even. 

A hand laid over his own, and he stiffened. "C'mon!" said the cheerful girl's voice. "I'll take you back to the headmaster's manor. Gosh, I'm really sorry!"

_Is that...?_

That voice, it couldn't be, he really hoped it _wasn't._ Fate couldn't possibly be so cruel.

"My name's Heather!" she chirped. 

_It's her. Gramps really did let her keep her old name._

Though he was allowed free meltdowns now, Timmy refused to let himself break down again. Roughly he brushed Heather's hand away and started to stagger to a stand.

"Hey, wait up," she said, with an audible pout. "I wanna help you!"

Speaking for the first time in months, Timmy muttered "Don't need it," and turned tail, briskly walking back to the manor. He was forced to stop dead, however, when a hand planted firmly down onto his left shoulder.

"You sure?" drawled Heather. "That's a pretty big puddle you almost just stepped into."

"I'm..." Timmy shoved her hand off, " _fine._ "

Still so cheerful, so blissfully unaware of the evils of the world - evils that she'd witnessed firsthand.

Later, Timmy would realize the cruel irony of the encounter. Heather would believe that was the first time they met, and it was opposite of their actual first meeting. No longer was Heather the Broken, no longer was Heather the selectively mute. _It's not fair. It's not fair..._

It wasn't fair that she had made him so happy once that Timmy couldn't bring himself to ask for another memory wipe, to eradicate the millennia of hurt ever since he had his first meltdown and killed his parents. An event, of course, that had made him a Broken to begin with. Here he was in a state painfully close to what he'd been then.

Warm arms lifted him up and held him close to a sturdy, elderly body. It was Tim, come to Timmy's rescue yet again. Timmy put his chin on his grandfather's shoulder and sighed. "Aren't I getting too big for this?" he muttered. 

Tim chuckled warmly. "You'll always be my little grandson, no matter how big you get." He was silent for a minute, and Timmy listened to the sounds of Heather and her friends running away, their laughter growing more and more distant. "I see you ran into her," Tim said, quieter.

"Yeah."

"You're talking."

"Yeah." 

"Are you going to be alright, kiddo?"

"...I dunno."

Tim's knowledge of Heather before he had met her had been limited. Timmy had rarely spoken about her directly, knowing that Tim would taunt him for befriending a girl, and Heather preferred to stay in town rather than go to his house. Timmy regretted few things more. Maybe, he reasoned, if Tim had known about Heather and Timmy had put his petty ego aside, then this whole situation could have been averted. 

Of course, fate wasn't done with him yet. A week or so later, Timmy was back out in the terrace. It overlooked the garden and the backyard, and said backyard was connected to the plot of land that the Timekeeper's Academy rested on, so the children were often seen frolicking quite close to the manor. Timmy was standing in the terrace with his grandfather when the cloth around his eyes finally came off.

His vision wasn't perfect. It wouldn't be for awhile. But the shapes and colors that he made out of the garden - vibrant green grass, pink and yellow flowers, crystal white stone beneath his feet - were interrupted by purples and blues and oranges. 

The girl he saw was just a palette swap of Heather; purple hat and tunic rather than black, and she'd swapped out that glimmering white shawl for a yellow cape. She was playing with a boy in orange and a girl in blue, but Timmy's eyes were only for her. Soon, the colors all blurred together when tears gathered and rolled out over his cheeks. 

Tim saw what he was staring at and said nothing. 

Heather would ultimately be at the academy for two more years, but since her immortality was already secured, she didn't age a day in that time. 

Once again, fate wasn't done with him yet. It wasn't content with just taking away Timmy's relationship with Heather, it had to also permanently ruin his chances of ever being friends with her again. Although, perhaps that was just Timmy trying to find anyone to blame other than himself for the day he lashed out at Heather.

It was weeks after Timmy's eyesight was back to mostly normal, when he was spacing out and floating through the manor and accidentally stumbled upon Heather talking with Tim in their luxurious living room. She was showing him a trifold with various graphs and charts on it, some project for the Academy, and asking Tim to look over it when she spotted him.

She politely gave the trifold to Tim and skittered up to Timmy, cornering him before he had a chance to process who was standing before him. "Timmy!" she blurted in a way that made his heart ache. "Where's the blindfold? Are your eyes better?"

That day made three years since Timmy met Heather, and that day he snapped. All the sadness and all the pain he felt for her soured into something dark, something he wanted out of him but didn't know how to expel. 

"Fine," he spat at her, and something in him died when he saw the way Heather shrank away. But then she scowled in that headstrong way she did, crossing her arms. 

"Jeez, man. I'm trying to be nice here."

Anger, an unfamiliar sensation and one he hoped he'd never have to feel around this girl, bubbled up in Timmy's chest. "You're really nosy, kid. Just leave me alone." 

He tried to turn away when the sound of Heather huffing and stomping her foot caught his attention. "You're so rude!" she cried. 

"Whatever."

After that, he couldn't stop himself for snapping and lashing out whenever Heather spoke with him. He went to sleep at night feeling awful for all the things he said and did, and woke up in the mornings knowing he would do it all again regardless. _Maybe...Maybe I kinda hate her for the way she makes me feel. My skin burns, my heart pounds, and I just feel so sad..._

_I hate myself. I really, really do._

The resentment for himself and for Heather culminated on the day of her graduation from the Academy. In their open-sky, fancy auditorium housing only fifteen or so new Timekeepers, Timmy leaned against the back wall, only really here because Tim was up there giving certificates and he felt safe with his grandfather around. Acutely aware of Heather's position - two rows from the front - he tapped his fingers on his crossed arms, willing this to be over before it even began. 

"And first, our valedictorian," Tim said soundly into the microphone, his voice echoing hollowly. "She will be awarded with the privilege of choosing her Timekeeping crew. Please welcome Heather Harriet, top of her class."

A smattering of applause. With her obnoxiously bright and bubbly personality, it was no wonder why her entire class seemed to love her. Timmy's lip curled. Heather said a basic, run-of-the-mill thank you speech, saying stuff about how excited she was about the whole universe of opportunities now laid out before her. 

And then came time to select her crew, publicly. She could pick up to three people, and she chose none.

"I don't mean to offend any of you." She chuckled nervously, reaching up to scratch behind her neck. "I mean, I love each and every one of you, but to be frank..." Her smiled dropped, and she looked grayly down at the podium where she stood. "A crew are people you need to trust with your life, right? And I don't think there was ever anyone, before I had my memories wiped or now, that I've ever trusted like that. So I'll be forging my journey alone. Thank you, and I'm sorry."

Under his breath, Timmy muttered the words he thought would never cross his mind. "...I really and truly hate you, Heather."

_I'm just weak to let a girl have so much power over me. Meet, fall in love, fuck it all up, hate her for things you can't control anymore._

* * *

"Heather Harriet."

She'd been adoring her new boomerang-shaped ship, but turned around in shock when she heard Timmy's voice behind her. "...T? What do you want?"

Timmy's eyes rolled. "Relax. Just here to ask when you're shipping out."

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Sheesh. That eager to get rid of me?"

Timmy put his hands up in a "really?" sort of way. "What? I just wanted to know."

"Heh." She turned back to her ship, shoving her hands under each other and into her sleeves. "Whatever. I know that's what you're actually here for. I'm leaving tomorrow, if you must know."

Wrinkling his nose, Timmy frowned at her. "Do you really think I hate you that much?"

"Yes."

"...Well, you'd be right."

Heather's head whipped around. Until now, maybe she had the vaguest inkling of this all being a joke - he was just a rude bastard. He didn't bear any serious ill will towards her. Right?

He refused to look her in the face, hands in his pockets. "Brats like you...really get on my nerves. You're just green to what this universe is really like." _I'm sorry I ever liked you. I'm sorry I'm saying this now, but maybe hating you is going to hurt less than loving you._

"You really hate me...?"

"What?" He suddenly looked down at her with a menacing snarl, one that made her put her hands up defensively and take a few steps back. "You're just such a bright ball of _sunshine_ you're completely unused to the idea that someone _could_ hate you? You're nothing more than a pile of sugar. You made a stupid choice not taking a crew with you. You'll never survive on your own out there."

_What am I saying...?_

In his brief moment of indecision, he left his guard down, and Heather shoved his chest with so much force he stumbled back several steps. Her face was dark, the brim of her purple top hat casting a shadow over her eyes.

"Fine!" she blurted suddenly. "I hate you, too! I've only had a few real conversations with you and you're just _unbearable._ Rude, rude, rude! Insulting me, belittling me, and expecting me to want to be around you?!"

"I did all those things so you would leave me alone, brat! You never got the message!"

_That's not true...I don't want to push her away. But I can't stop myself. I'm really the worst person._

"Go take your _Warp Star_ and fly it into the sun!" Her blue eyes sparked vengefully. "Once I'm off this planet I never want to see you again!"

In another world, perhaps this conversation would be the dead opposite of what it was - a Heather that loved him once again, and a Timmy who loved her back, pleading for her not to go but knowing that he couldn't and shouldn't stop her. This was just where fate said they would split, and perhaps permanently. 

"Fine."

Timmy turned tail and stormed away, and that was the last time he saw Heather for a long, long time.

* * *

Tomorrow came, and from his bedroom window Timmy watched Heather's boomerang ship take off and zoom toward the surface. _Finally. She's gone._

His eyes drifted through the distant shipyard, eventually landing on his own dusty blue ship, the _Warp Star,_ the one Heather had told him to fly into the sun.

_To fly again...Maybe that would be nice..._

He looked over his shoulder at his bedroom window. If he left without saying anything, Gramps would be mad. Alas, talking to someone was the last thing he wanted to do right now, and he wanted - he _needed_ \- to be off the planet right now, by himself, flying in the direction opposite of Heather for who knew how long so that when she did eventually return here he wouldn't see her and he'd never run into her among the stars.

And so he left a small note, and clambered out of the white window.

_And so, we go to the stars._

He encountered Heather two or three times in the century to come, and all the encounters ended in the same hateful words and hurt feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
